


The Slow Dance of The Infinite Stars

by Sam_Nook



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: AU, M/M, Modern Day, Monsters, Temporary Character Death, Tumblr: usukustwiceperyear, USUK - Freeform, Vampires, WWII, prompt was monsters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:27:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27316996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sam_Nook/pseuds/Sam_Nook
Summary: Alfred turned away from the memorial. "Well, if this is a dream, Arthur Kirkland, don't wake me up."
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Kudos: 23





	The Slow Dance of The Infinite Stars

**Author's Note:**

> This was for the USUKUSTwiceperyear 2020.1 event. The prompt was monsters.
> 
> This has mentions of WWII and Temporary Character Death.

Alfred Freeman Jones had been a good man, a good son, and a good soldier, but the war had swallowed him into the nameless masses that died. The name on the small town memorial proved that he had once existed, and the old lady that still placed flowers on his grave did so too. Still, Arthur felt any grief towards Alfred Freeman Jones was his alone to carry. 

The house Arthur had finally settled in was thirty minutes away from the cemetery; the land around him was empty, and every morning after work, he visited the graveyard. He tended to go before the sun rose, it was easier that way, no questions, and he wasn't noticed. It was easier now, seventy years after the war had ended, especially now that he didn't have to hide from Alfred's mother or awkwardly explain why he was placing a flower on his tomb. Arthur wasn't sure she would've understood; he was certain Alfred's sister Madeline knew. They had both lost someone they loved to that war.

He remembered that cold day, whispering apologies and crying because he could have saved her son, but he couldn't and shouldn't have. They hadn't batted an eye; they didn't hate him for surviving. Arthur did; he went into that war, knowing he would survive. The funeral had been quiet and short, and Arthur had stopped showing up at the cemetery during the day a few months later. 

They wouldn't understand. No one did, not when you left the person you loved most behind, knowing you could have saved them.

Arthur still had nightmares, even seventy years later. That was normal; the older you got, the longer your nightmares haunted you. Those memories lasted the longest and hurt the most. 

When Arthur awoke from those nights, he would crawl into the bathroom and cry under the shower. The water was always burning; cold water only made it hurt worse. 

Even under the water, he could still imagine what happened. The cold rain that filled their hiding spot and the sounds of bombs exploding on the ruined building around them. The sounds got closer until he was on the ground with a warm body covering his. Arthur didn't have time before they were buried underneath a pile of shrapnel and bricks. Arthur had moved them to safety after the skies had gone quiet, and the town was nothing more than a graveyard of houses and humans. He had thought they would both be fine, but in the morning, the loud and steady beat of Alfred's heart was slow. 

"I could save you," Arthur had whispered. Alfred knew. They would both be safe, together, and happy. Alfred knew. He was far more terrified of living forever and watching the world move on without him. 

Arthur knew. He had to let go. Alfred did not want to be saved, and Arthur could not save him now. 

By noon, Alfred was dead, and Arthur was the lone survivor. He retreated to the nearest airbase, ashamed and defeated. Even those who live forever make mistakes. Arthur was just glad he wasn't the one who had to tell Mrs. Jones that her son was dead. Dead and buried in the ground somewhere in the forest in France with bite marks in his neck from an unfinished vampire transition. 

At least he didn't have to tell her that he made her son into a vampire. Arthur wondered if that would have been easier. At least Alfred would be alive in front of her and not some soldier who had fought with him to hold her while she cried. 

Somehow they both moved on. Katherine Jones died, and Arthur kept living. He always would. 

July was always the hardest. The sky would be bursting with fireworks, and he had to remind himself that he was in no danger. This was rural Oregon, not France, and no bombs were dropping from hidden planes in the sky. He always spent those nights at the cemetery, after old Madeline had left the usual freshly picked red poppy at the tombstone, and cried himself to sleep. If he were lucky, he would make it home before the sun rose. When he didn't, he hardly noticed the light stinging sensation. When you were old enough, nothing seemed to hurt you. 

It had been another long July night. There had been a crash along the highway, which meant more patients than usual, and Arthur had gone overtime. When he pulled up to the cemetery, the sun was nearly rising over the mountains in the distance. Arthur was still in his scrubs from the graveyard shift in the Wallowa County emergency room when he slipped past the gate and into the dimly lit graveyard. He followed the hidden but worn path to the cemetery's back to the familiar spot under an old oak tree. 

Immediately, he could tell he was not alone. The hairs on the back of his next stood, and he whirled around, expecting to see some other person visiting a tombstone. Perhaps Mr. Myers, who had just lost his wife, or Camila Harrison, who had lost her father. Instead, the area was empty. Uneasily, he backed towards the tree where he'd be hidden in the shadows. 

A stick cracked behind him, and Arthur whirled around, nearly tripping over a broken gravestone in his haste. Two hands steadied him, and there was something so familiar about it. The scent was familiar, cigarette smoke, and chocolate. 

"Should've come home sooner if you've been here the whole time like Francis said you'd be. Let me tell you, warlocks are always right, Kirkland." 

Arthur froze. He didn't understand. It was Alfred, at least it smelled like Alfred and sounded like him. Arthur's fingers tightened against the wallet in his hand. Alfred was dead; he had been since 1944. He didn't want to look up; he felt sick. 

"Arthur."

Arthur didn't want to believe it. He knew for sure Alfred had been dead. His heart had stopped beating, and it took more than just a vampire bite to finish the process, and unless there was another vampire to sire Alfred, he wouldn't have survived. There couldn't have been; it was in the middle of a battlefield, for God's sake. 

"Alfred Freeman Jones, born on July 4, 1925." There was a pause; Arthur didn't move. "Met Arthur Kirkland on July 17, 1944, kissed him first on Christmas Eve. He told me never fell in love; I told him you'd be wrong. I died on July 1, 1945."

"How are you alive?" Arthur pulled away before meeting Alfred's earnest gaze. It was different, tired, and battered underneath the clinging touch of youth. "You died in France. I buried you." 

"Because you started the transition. You know vampires have a week to fully turn before they truly died. I tried to find you, you know, but someone said they sent you back to America after surviving that incident. Instead, I was sired by a Russian vampire. After a decade in his service, he let me leave to look for you." 

Arthur was silent. Alfred had been alive this whole time. Alive, breathing, and looking for him. He had made Alfred Freeman Jones a vampire. 

"Well... here I am." Arthur murmured weakly. 

Alfred snorted. "Here you are, Arthur Kirkland, and by golly, am I glad to see you."

_You have no idea._

  
**~~**

Five years later, Alfred and Arthur stood in the same quiet overgrown cemetery under a tree. It was empty; it always was with the long-forgotten dead buried here. It seemed they were the only two that remembered them. A bright red poppy laid on the grave, freshly picked that night, to continue the tradition that Madeline Jones had started over seventy-five years ago. Alfred had laughed when Arthur had picked the flower, but he wanted to do it. It reminded him that even when the poppy died, he would have what mattered most. There was a different pain to that, a bittersweet pain. 

"You know something, Art?" Alfred's voice was quiet and calming among the loud bangs from the fireworks in the sky. "Seventy-six years ago, I first met you. What do you think about that?"

A glance down at his phone proved Alfred right. It was midnight, July 17. Arthur's stomach fluttered, and he squeezed Alfred's hand. Seventy-six years ago, he was a tired immortal man fighting in another neverending war, knowing that he would be a lone survivor and that none of the bright, happy young men around him would make it home. He would instead, taking their place on boats that stopped in New York and watching as mothers and girlfriends waited for a boy that had been lost in the battlefields of Europe. 

It had been worse than that. He had returned home a lone survivor without the one thing in life he swore to protect. He had failed, and his heart had been left broken. He was glad he didn't have to fight in another war. He didn't think he would be able to live through it even if he did return home alive. He wouldn't live through another battle with bright, happy young men that would only end up dead like those before them. It seemed it would always be another war, another survivor that had lost everything. 

Somehow he was able to survive and make do with an underpaid medical job, the cemetery, and memories. In the end, it had been worth it. Especially as Alfred reached out, real, alive, and still in love with a soldier that he had thought he had lost. Arthur didn't think it had been real. He didn't deserve that. 

"I think it was worth it." Arthur finally said, breaking the fragile silence.

"I can tell you one thing, Arthur Kirkland; I never regretted anything when it came to you. Meeting you, falling in love with you, kissing you, dying for you, becoming a vampire, all of it. I'd do it all over again for you, you know?"

"And I don't think I could stop you." Arthur quietly finished because there was no worse pain than losing the person you love most and living without them. 

"Hey Arthur, told you that you'd be wrong." Alfred's smile was soft, especially under the bright moon. "You're in love with me, and I'm in love with you." 

"I do remember hearing something about how American lads always being right," Arthur paused, "it seems that statement was true." 

Somehow they had been lucky. Lucky enough to both survive the war, lucky enough to have found each other, and lucky enough to still be in love. 

"Hey Arthur, can I kiss you?" A flash of color above them lit up the sky. 

Arthur didn't think he could say no. 

**~~**

It was snowing when they landed in France. The snow drifted from the sky softly and landed on their coats, hair, and hands as they walked out towards the preserved battlefield. Since then, the town had been rebuilt and hosted a museum for the battle in the surrounding fields. It was different being there again, with Alfred, with no planes or guns firing at them. The war was long over. 

It was Christmas Eve, and the sun was setting in the sky. It was warmer with the hot chocolate in their hands as they followed the empty path down the battlefield. Flowers bloomed in the field where the war had once claimed lives and destruction. Plaques labeled the trail explaining the battle to visitors. 

"It feels odd, being back here." Alfred reverently spoke as they approached the last plaque where the victims of the battle were listed. He traced his name and glanced down at the statue of the lone survivor. "You know, both of us alive, and it's peaceful."

"Yes," Arthur agreed, taking Alfred's hand in his gloved one. "It seems like a dream. Something that we both imagined to keep us from giving up."

Alfred turned away from the memorial. "Well, if this is a dream, Arthur Kirkland, don't wake me up."


End file.
